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January 19, 2023 - On Being Alone

I’ve always been comfortable isolated in my own thoughts, alone in my room, at a distance from those who would shatter the silence. But, now the stillness which I know is approaching is unsettling, bringing dread and even fear.


On the way home from work two days ago, I suddenly, almost without warning, began sobbing. In between the sobs, I was praying aloud, “Please heal him.” Almost as soon as the words left my mouth, I thought, why should God heal him, when only a few days earlier, I learned of the death of a child succumbing to cancer. I felt a wave of guilt and disgrace. But, then I was back to pleading that Ed be healed, making my case to God that we weren’t finished; we needed to have more time together; he needed to attend graduations, weddings and births. I told God that I didn’t want to come home to the silence and emptiness that would be waiting for me. Throughout my imploring, I never added the phrase, “but thy will be done”. 


I now looked on “aloneness” as a dark, quiet hole with the muffled sounds of random music from Pandora playing “our songs”, hitting my heart like small needles, penetrating the place where our memories are stored. Or having some news show, movie or Netflix series serving as white noise to my sadness. I know I won’t like what is coming.


I arrived home to Ed sitting in his chair watching an action thriller. He took one look at me and could see something was wrong. He dared to ask, “Ginger, what’s wrong?” The sobbing began again. This was the meltdown that had been held at bay for two years. This was the scene I had so carefully controlled so that he would feel ok about leaving me. The peaceful façade of acceptance had fallen away as the train wreck was now exposed, and there was nothing I could do to hide my pain or slow down my tears. Through the sobs, I switched from “I don’t want you to leave me”, to “I’m jealous and envious of you going to a perfect paradise to reunite with all of those people we loved and lost”. I remember saying, “It’s unfair. I don’t want to be here without you.”


He waited till my breathing became more regular, and then he said, “I don’t want to leave, either, but I am thankful that I am going before you because I am not as strong as you, don’t have as much faith as you, and don’t know how to be by myself, like you. You are going to be fine.” 


Without a tear shed, he showed me once again why I love him. His chivalry, his courage and valor to protect me from my own dread and fear. As usual, he’s right. I will be fine. Not good. Just fine, but not every day.  

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